


Tooth & Nail

by Sanguinary_Tide



Series: Blood Ties-verse [2]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: Blood and Torture, Domestic Violence, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/M, Gun Violence, Sequel, Violent Deaths, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-12
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-07-23 13:50:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7465818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanguinary_Tide/pseuds/Sanguinary_Tide
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She should have known, no good deed goes unpunished--especially one that puts blood on your hands. </p><p>The underworld is no place for innocents. One cannot simply trespass there and leave untainted. So when it comes your way, you had better run…of course, sometimes, the underworld comes running after you. And when that happens, there’s no escaping it. </p><p>You can only run so far...eventually you will fall...or stand your ground.</p><p>(Sequel to The Nature of the Beast)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Problems with the Times

**Tooth & Nail**

 

**_Prologue: Problems with the Times_ **

****

Gokudera Hayato, also known as ‘The Smoking Bomb’ and in more recent times ‘The Right Hand of Vongola Decimo’…was seriously considering killing himself. Anything… _anything_ …was better than continuing to sit through this bullshit. It was times like these that he was hard pressed to regret being the right hand of Sawada Tsunayoshi… _almost._ Still, as he attempted to focus his dull eyed stare on the rest of his… _companions,_ he found himself in a battle against his own patience. He’d already tuned them out as his sanity desperately cried for salvation; however, it was by sheer will power that Hayato overcame. He knew in both his mind and heart that his duty came first over his sanity, _any_ day. And so it with great anxiety, Hayato allowed himself to not only see the people in front of him, but hear them as well.

“VOIIIIII!”

He clenched his jaw. _…perhaps he’d acted too soon._

“Squalo.”

He went unheard as the VARIA second in command continued his protest, “You shitty bastards! You had just as much to do with it as I did!”

“Ushishishi. The prince doesn’t make stupid decisions.”

“Sure you do, senpai.”

“Tch! Stay out of conversations involving your betters, brat.”

“I don’t see any, senpai. …besides…I told you it was a bad idea.”

“Why you—”

“Mu…I was away on a mission.”

“VOI! Quit making excuses, you pieces of shit!”

Strangely, Lussuria and Levi were quiet…but it didn’t matter not when Hayato could see them squirming in their seats. He narrowed his eyes and cut into their spat, “Squalo!”

He concealed the gnashing of his teeth, but was unable to hide the twitching of a nerve near his right eye. Aquamarine eyes glaring heatedly down at the table’s occupants, he clenched his fists beneath the table and squashed the urge to fling the stick of dynamite in his sleeve to the opposite side of the room. He took a calming breath as the group of assassins had quieted and were now staring at him with various expressions. Squalo, closest to him on his left, had some time ago stood up in his chair, long white hair trailing down his back and over his shoulder. He had one foot planted on the long conference table, his sword wielding arm still pointed at Belphegor’s throat, though his disdainful gaze was centered on the Vongola storm guardian. The prince for that matter seemed completely unfazed. His hands were tucked behind his head and he was slouched in what he would likely call a “princely manner”, his feet propped on the table without a care in the world. As always, his eyes were hidden by layers of strawberry blonde hair, but his mocking grin nearly provoked Hayato into reaching for the spare stick of dynamite once more. Beside the insane member of royalty and closest to Hayato’s right, the seemingly youngest and smallest of the group of assassins, a figure shrouded mostly from view by a heavy black hooded cloak, his arms crossed over his chest, Mammon was wearing his usual sullen frown. Although given the young, child-like appearance of what could be seen of his face, the frown was far closer to a pout. On the other side of the ripping prince, Flan, currently on sabbatical from his master and therefore on loan to the group of assassins, looked as bored and unaffected as he always did. He was slightly slumped in his high backed chair, his hands tucked into his jacket pockets while his legs stretched out in front of him beneath the table. Mint green hair falling unhindered into his eyes, as he lacked the large frog hat Belphegor had once forced on him in an alternate history, the only sign of curiosity to be found in him was the mere fact that he had turned his vacant gaze in Hayato’s direction.

At the end of the table, Lussuria, noted by his crowning orange Mohawk and the sweep of green bang that hung over his right eye, though it made little difference considering his eyes were obscured from sight by his ever present sunglasses, was leaned forward over the table, his gloved hands clasped in front of him, a slight frown disrupting his normally jubilant expression. Next to him, Levi A. Than was suspiciously quiet. He was hunched over in his chair, his arms dangling past his lap and his uneasy stare pointed at the floor. It was because of them, that Hayato was nervous.

Guiding his glare back to their commander, he met the shark’s unyielding gaze and asked, “And what does _Xanxus_ have to say about this?”

And with that spoken, Hayato narrowed his eyes at their reactions. All of them suddenly tensed, even the normally nonchalant substitute illusionist had trailed his blank stare down to the table. The storm guardian prayed that the feeling rising in his gut was for nothing as he asked the dreaded follow-up question, “He _was_ informed of this decision, wasn’t he?” He raised his voice towards the end.

“Tch!” Squalo lowered his sword from Belphegor’s throat and gave his fellow second in command a baleful scowl. “Of course he was, trash! He signed the agreement, didn’t he!?”

Ignoring the insult, Hayato continued to stare down the Rain commander, waiting for him to continue.

“…it’s just…”

It wasn’t Squalo, however who told him what he wanted to know.

“Mu…” Hayato shifted his gaze to the former Arcobaleno, “…the boss doesn’t always read over the paperwork.” …that had been an understatement.

And just like that…all hell broke loose in the once neat and casually elegant conference room.

 

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

 

_~18 hours later; Tokyo, Japan~_

 

He was livid. Just the mere thought of the group of assassins nearly made him want to jump back on a flight to Italy, just so he could pick another fight with them. …as it was, he suspected that the Vongola would be receiving a rather _pricey_ bill for the damage done to the hotel. For a moment, he wondered if neutral territory was really worth the cost of the damages…but then he considered the possibility of Xanxus actually stepping foot on the property of the Vongola main house—while Sawada Tsunayoshi was in charge—and then the even less likely possibility of Decimo and his guardians being welcomed on the VARIA’s home turf. That thought quickly went out the window. As it was, lawn head and the baseball moron were barely tolerated on the property when they visited their rivals for a simple spar. Anything that dealt directly with Vongola…or more precisely Vongola Decimo’s reign…and it was likely to have a hole blasted into it, courtesy of Xanxus’ X-guns.

Hayato sighed at the thought of the VARIA leader and quickened his pace for the door, eager to be outside of the smoke-free airport. The moment he was out of range, the first thing he did was light a cigarette. The second thing he did was make a phone call.

“…I’ve informed Jyuudaime already. Make sure everyone’s in attendance.” He took a drag on his addiction of choice.

“It isn’t that simple. We have a problem.”

“As in a possible massive breach in security-problem.”

“…Right.”

Hanging up, Hayato stared at the phone before looking at the cigarette. Narrowing his gaze on the object, he realized one may not be enough. Sighing heavily, he made his way to the airport parking lot.

 

~A few hours later~

 

                He navigated the underground base with an undeniable ease that could only be a product from the knowledge that came with being one half the mind that designed the layout. He was on his fifth cigarette of the morning when he stepped into the meeting room and seven pairs of eyes shifted to him. He paused under the heavy scrutiny and after a moment, he inwardly cursed as he plucked the cigarette from between his lips. He _knew_ there was no smoking in the base…but it was a lost thought amongst the chaotic whirlwind his mind had become. Clearing his throat self-consciously, his eyes quickly roamed his surroundings for a spot to put out the still lit tobacco stick. Finally, with an annoyed frown he was forced to stump the butt out on the metal door frame. Meeting the stares of his famiglia, the looks he received ranging from amused to annoyed and finally flat out bored— _stupid cow—_ he moved to the end of the table, the direct opposite of Tsuna.

                Usually, he sat at Tsuna’s right, but as he was currently making the announcement, his seat was left empty. Still, standing directly across from his boss had the added bonus of meeting his gaze head on. …A fact the Hayato found to be rather intimidating despite Tsuna’s rather non-threatening appearance. Taking a breath, he noted that I-pin was still away on a mission and Chrome was still absent doing whatever it was that Mukuro had asked of her. _…perhaps a blessing in disguise, really_. He didn’t particularly dislike Chrome and did in fact trust her to a certain degree, _however_ …given the close _relationship_ between her and Mukuro, he wasn’t fond of allowing her certain information. And this latest fiasco…was _definitely_ something he didn’t want Mukuro catching wind of. Not surprising, Lal was sitting in place of Basil. After Iemitsu retired the previous year, Basil had taken over the leadership of CEDEF as Lal hadn’t wanted to deal with the responsibilities of being in charge and had instead settled for the position of second. Naturally, Basil spent most of his time in Italy and as such Lal usually attended in his place when in Japan. Even less surprising was Kyoya’s empty spot…it was common knowledge that the Cloud guardian hated to be grouped together. Hayato was, however surprised to see Fuuta seated at the table. Despite having an advisory position in the upper levels of the Vongola famiglia, he was the only one of them with a day job. Hayato had expected him to be somewhere on the surface teaching a class.

                At his questioning look, the young man gave him a modest smile and said, “I heard it was an emergency.”

                He shifted his gaze to Lal who only shrugged in response. She was the one he’d spoken to on the phone. True, this meeting was of the utmost importance, but it wasn’t anything so immediately dire that Jyuudaime’s younger sibling of sorts needed to leave off of work. Sighing, he realized there was no point in making a big deal of it now. What’s done is done. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused. “Reborn isn’t here?”

                Takeshi answered, “I spoke with him last night. He said he’d be back sometime this evening. One of us will inform him later.”

                Annoyed, but satisfied Hayato nodded and questioned them all, “I assume you’ve been told what this is about?”

                This time it was Lal who answered, her no-nonsense tone urging him to get to the point, “Just that it has something to do with your meeting with the VARIA.”

                Grunting in agreement, he continued, “Apparently a little over two years ago the VARIA made a deal—a contract actually—with several of the allied branch families.”

                There were a few raised eyebrows, but no one seemed too concerned…yet.

                “The details of this contract stated that if the VARIA had not found a candidate for the position of their Cloud commander in three years…then the branch families will be allowed to propose their own candidates.”

                The reactions that followed that particular statement were a lot more noticeable, especially Lal’s loud exclamation of, “What the hell was Xanxus thinking?”

                Still, Hayato’s gaze was locked with Tsuna’s. Hands in front of him, his fingers interlaced, the Decimo’s previously patient gaze had narrowed in concerned thought. Shifting away to look at Lal, Hayato answered her, “Nothing it would seem. Evidently, the decisions of the VARIA are largely left up to its second in command, with only the more extreme decisions making their way to Xanxus where they are presented to him verbally prior to him seeing the actual paperwork.”

                “And this wasn’t an _extreme_ decision?” The only reason it wasn’t unusual for Lal to be this outspoken was because Hayato didn’t have the liberty of doing it himself…he was too busy being the bearer of bad news.

                “About that…,” he looked away from Lal and turned his gaze to the head of the table, “It would seem there was a mix-up in the paperwork. One of Squalo’s subordinates made the mistake of including it in what was at the time the latest set of papers for Xanxus to sign. …He signed it without prior knowledge of the agreement. It was filed and copies were sent to the other signers.” It went unsaid that the subordinate responsible was no longer living.

                “And Xanxus?” All eyes shifted to the seemingly too young and innocent mafia boss, “What has he said about this?”

                Hayato’s eyes drifted down to the table’s surface and a slight twitch made itself known on his face. “That’s just it Jyuudaime. Not even the commanders themselves knew that the agreement had been made official until two days ago when a branch family member contacted them about it.” Ignoring the bewildered looks on his famiglia’s faces, he looked back up at his boss and added, “Xanxus doesn’t know. I was…however, _assured_ that he’d be informed within the day.” That particular assurance was what caused the damage to conference room. Despite knowing that Xanxus needed to be told, none of the commanders wanted to be the one to do it…and truth be told, Hayato couldn’t blame them. However, at the end of the day, someone had to own up to their subordinate’s screw up and their disagreement had been particularly violent.

                “Mah…” Disarming smile in place, Takeshi was the first to comment, a hand scratching at his head, “…that’s quite a predicament.”

                Hayato snorted. It was more than just a predicament. While most of the allied branch families were decently trustworthy, such as in the case of the Cavallone family, there were still quite a few of them that were only allied with them for the purpose of covering their own hides…and most of them were just waiting for the chance to take over. The VARIA’s latest screw up gave them the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the ranks and serve as a double agent. And that was the most positive scenario. Worst case was that they could attempt to sabotage the Vongola from the inside out.

                Tsunayoshi was silent for a long moment before looking to his Storm guardian. “…What do you have in mind, Hayato?”

                A faint, barely noticeable smile appeared on the right hand man’s face…which was of course in stark contrast to his inner reaction of a child bouncing for joy as his Jyuudaime recognized his capabilities without prodding. When he spoke, however, he was composed and his tone even, “Thankfully, the wording of the latter half of the contract, which pertained to how the candidate would be selected, was rather vague. While I do have an idea in mind, I would need to go over it with Reborn before presenting it confidently.”

                Smiling fondly at his second, Tsuna nodded in acceptance. “We’ll discuss this particular issue further after you’ve spoken with Reborn then. I believe, you had another, more…curious issue as well?”

                “Ahh,” he nodded with his spoken agreement and reached into his jacket pocket. He paused in his actions, however when a figure stepped into the doorway.

                All eyes shifted to an abashed Kusakabe Tetsuya. “Pardon me. I was informed rather late that there was a meeting taking place.”

                Nobody said anything. Of _course,_ he was. Kyoya was likely _too busy_ to be concerned with matters of the Vongola. In _fact_ , he was probably taking a nap and hadn’t decided to inform his assistant until he’d awoken. …All of the former, simply being Hayato’s imaginations didn’t take away from the fact that he was suddenly quite displeased with the Cloud guardian. Glaring at nothing in particular, Hayato removed the thumb drive from his coat pocket and inserted it into the slot in the wall behind him. Immediately the large previously blank screen above it flared to life.

                Momentarily turning his gaze on Kusakabe, he quickly informed him. “I’ll catch up you afterwards, but for now this is the latest issue.”

                The video on the screen was slightly grainy, but in color…for all the good it did as it seemed to be a recording of a rather rainy day. It looked to be security footage.

                “This video was taken sometime in the last two months at a shipping dock in New York.” Turning to gesture to the car pulling up and a small group of suited men haphazardly tugging a body from the back seat, he continued, “a subordinate of mine has informed me that the Russian mob believes themselves to have gotten ahold of a member of ours and that they’ve taken them in for _questioning_.” It was unnecessary for him to elaborate on the mob’s version of questioning.

                Noting that he had everyone’s attention, he picked up the remote and zoomed in on the body of the struggling captive. “Problem is…I’ve seen every member of the Vongola famiglia and I have taken great care to memorize every face…and I don’t recognize this person.” He froze the video on the supposed soon to be tortured informant.

                He was only mildly disappointed when no one showed any sign of recognition. If _he_ didn’t recognize the captive, then it was unlikely that any of them would…or so he thought.

                Again, all eyes were on Kusakabe, but this time it wasn’t because he was late. He’d stood up so suddenly that his chair had rolled back into the wall behind him with a noisy crash. The man himself was staring wide eyed at the screen, the twig usually clenched between his teeth was in danger of falling to the floor, but he paid it no mind. He was too busy looking at the same face that he had studied curiously three months prior.

                “That woman…”


	2. The Price of Freedom

**Tooth & Nail**

_**Chapter One: The Price of Freedom** _

She'd been missing for two months, apparently. According to the data he'd manage to gather in a few hours, Charlene Erin Thompson was last heard from on November 5th, Monday morning. She let an employee know that she was heading out for a meeting—apparently some suspicions had arisen over suspected illegal hunting on the reservation and she was being questioned—however, it would seem that Thompson had never arrived. Hayato stared at the worried face of Kusakabe Tetsuya and was hard pressed to ignore the minute traces of guilt in his expression. He wanted to dig more, but he knew he'd gotten all he was going to get out of the man.

Apparently, about two weeks prior to her kidnapping Thompson had stumbled upon an injured Kyoya and had not only assisted in patching him up, but had gotten caught up in the assault on her cabin that followed. _Apparently,_ a week and a half prior to _that,_ Kyoya had been ambushed during what should have been a standard hit, but turned out to be a ploy to lure the Cloud guardian out in a distant location. How Kyoya had gotten from Las Vegas to the middle of nowhere, Montana, Hayato didn't know and wasn't so sure he wanted to know. What he did know, however, was that there was a lot more to the story, but Kusakabe wasn't saying and Tsuna seemed satisfied.

 _Jyuudaime._ He shifted his gaze to the man at his left. While Tsuna, like the rest of them had been surprised at Kusakabe's recollection of the woman, it had been a different kind of surprise, one that Hayato recognized as Kyoya's second explained. The rest of them had heard and responded to the short and noticeably trimmed tale, but Tsuna had grown distant as if he'd already heard the story. It annoyed the right hand man. Sure, he was at the least satisfied that the most unsociable member of their group had in fact reported to the boss, but he couldn't help feeling a tad bit insulted that _he_ , as the right hand man had not been informed as well. It was obvious that Tsuna knew the full story.

Hayato sighed. If he understood this correctly—and of course he did—the woman had been kidnapped by the Russian mob, which meant that it was highly likely that they were the ones who'd instrumented the attack against Hibari Kyoya. And _that_ was bad for business. They were currently involved in negotiations with two different Russian groups. Hayato hoped for their sakes, that it was neither of them…because if it was…he'd be all too happy to send out the order for Vongola to crush them. Ten, no not even ten, six or seven years ago, he'd have been concerned that Tsuna's kind heartedness would have stilled his hand, but that was then and this is now. The tenth Vongola head had seen friends hurt and innocents killed because of his hesitation. Even his hesitation to accept the position of Vongola Decimo hadn't ended well. It took years for him to find the resolve, but around his nineteenth birthday Sawada Tsunayoshi had finally had enough and committed to never hesitating again. It was a day that Hayato was proud of, but he was even prouder for the fact that every day that followed, Tsuna managed to still be the compassionate person they all knew him to be.

"Kusakabe-san?"

All eyes shifted to the brunette at the head of the table and Kusakabe's teeth relinquished the twig he'd been chewing on vigorously to respond, "Yes, Sawada-san?"

"Thompson-san…what kind of person is she?"

He blinked at the unexpected question as did most in the room as they tried to understand the reason for it.

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

Tsuna's expression shifted into a slight frown as he looked away to the side, gathering his thoughts, "It's just…I wonder…will she survive?"

The atmosphere in the room was suddenly somber. None of them were ignorant when it came to the darker sides of the criminal world and while the question had undoubtedly surfaced in their minds none of them had wanted to focus on it. And no one was surprised that their boss had been the one focusing on it when no one else wanted the burden.

Kusakabe cleared his throat, "I'm not really sure. Kyo-san has spoken of her a few times, but…"

"But?" Ryohei asked, his brash and curious tone cutting across in a manner that would have been rude from anyone else.

The former Vice chairman sighed, "but…I am unable to tell if Kyo-san's… _comments_ are praise…or _insults_."

Hayato snorted. _Well, that was unsurprising_. And unfortunately it sounded about right for the aloof Cloud guardian.

Tsuna hummed in acknowledgement of his words before asking, "And you Kusakabe-san? What did you get from her?"

His response was rather flustered, "I-I really didn't interact with her much, Sawada-san."

"I'm sure you must have gotten some sort of impression from her," the Vongola boss pressed.

Kusakabe held his gaze for a long moment before sighing heavily and a look of reminiscence entered his stare. "Thompson-san…. I wasn't around her for very long, but she seemed very…stubborn…and reckless."

Tsuna was silent and all eyes were on him as he seemed to digest this information.

"Do you think it'll be enough?"

His expression was grim when he spoke, but Kusakabe's words seemed hopeful, "…I believe anything may be possible."

The Vongola boss nodded and shifted his gaze to his right hand man, "Hayato."

He needn't have spoken as the Storm guardian in question had long directed his attention to him.

"Find and retrieve her. You have my permission to do what is necessary." He stood then and a weary tone traced his next words, "She unknowingly put her life at risk helping one of us, the least we can do is shield her from the repercussions." He looked to Kusakabe then, "I assume you'll be informing Hibari-san of this development."

"Yes, of course."

He nodded then, "I'd appreciate it if you could tell him to meet in the morning…" he paused then to look at the clock above the door: nearly 4am. "Well, in about five hours anyway."

"I'll make sure he's informed, Sawada-san."

Tsuna gave a noise of acknowledgement and headed out of the room, although he paused at the door for a moment, "…try and get some rest, everyone." And then he was gone, Kusakabe leaving barely a moment later.

Mentally, Hayato snorted. _Rest. Right._ That wasn't likely to happen, they all knew it. Tsuna had in a sense just put them all on the task of tracking down and retrieving this one woman, which meant that until that happened _all_ of their duties would be falling on Tsuna's shoulders and that was just something none of them—least of all Hayato, would allow. He was going to find this woman at just about any costs. He'd only just mentally consigned himself to the task when she spoke up.

"There probably isn't a point to all of this, you know that right?"

Hayato scowled, "If you aren't going to help, then you can leave, woman."

Silence prevailed for a long moment, "…I didn't say I wouldn't help. However, I wouldn't get my hopes up if I were you. It's been over two months…what are the chances that she's even still alive?"

His scowl deepened. Trust Lal to say what they were all thinking. They just hadn't wanted to say it in front of Tsuna.

"…and if she is," Lal continued, "…what makes you think she's even worth saving? She might be better off just being put out of her misery."

The heavy silence that smothered the room after her words made Hayato extremely grateful for his boss's absence.

"Maa…Don't be so negative, Lal." Hayato looked at the former baseball player across from him, both thankful and agitated for his interference. He'd long grudgingly realized that Yamamoto Takeshi could lighten the mood far better than himself. Takeshi smiled good naturedly, "If she can put up with Kyoya for a week, then I'm sure surviving a few months with the Russian mob will be easy!"

Although no one laughed with him at his well-intended joke, it did succeed in clearing the air.

Lal huffed and rolled her eyes, " _Well,_ if you're so confident…. Give me those." She stood and leaned over the table, snagging the folder of document copies Hayato had in front of him.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

She didn't know where she was…not really. But she knew she was on a ship of some sort. She could feel the ocean current rocking beneath her feet…or at least whenever she was on her feet. She didn't spend much time being vertical. And whenever she got a taste of fresh air, it was always tinted with brine and salt…it was rather telling of the ocean. Otherwise, the small room stank of stale air and vomit…she was certain it had been occupied prior to her extended visit. Her cell…well…she _assumed_ it was a cell… _that's what it felt like_ , was nothing but six sides of rusted metal. There was a dirty and stained mattress against the rear wall and a bucket in the corner. Tossed carelessly to the side of the mattress was a thread bare blanket that barely did anything for her when night fell and the chill of the ocean swept over the ship. Didn't mean she didn't use it.

She was barely conscious when the sound of footsteps in the hall echoed throughout her prison. She was still when the latch was lifted and crying hinges hailed the opening of the door. Charlie didn't bat an eye when the ship's dim light fell across her prone form. Two men were standing in the door way, one of them she recognized. He'd made frequent attempts to visit her early on…it didn't work out well for either of them and he sported a still healing gash on his cheek just beneath his left eye. The scar that eventually formed would likely leave an indention in his face. The other was new. She was neither surprised nor expectant of their arrival. She'd long stopped caring to keep track. It didn't matter; they never came at the same intervals. At times they'd come every few days, others they'd take her from her cell up to five times in a single day.

"… _doesn't look like much to me."_ The new guy was talking.

A chuckle. _"…trust me. The bitch has a habit of surprising you."_ Scarface responded.

She blinked. She couldn't understand them. Her Russian was limited to greetings and a few choice insults; the insults she'd put to use quite frequently after her arrival. …A week later, one of them forced a hot iron into her mouth and pressed it into her tongue. She passed out from the pain. When she woke up she thought she'd only dreamt it. However as the weeks went by and their methods of inducing pain grew more extreme, she knew better. She should be dead. There had been several times when she knew quite well that the knife had severed the right—or wrong depending on how you looked at it—artery or the times when she was simply bleeding too much. There was even the one moment where she'd contemplated suicide and tried to drown in her own blood. And yet _, every_ time…she'd wake up and her injuries would be healed. They weren't always fully healed, however. Sometimes they let the wounds fester and would poke and prod at them at their leisure.

She didn't think about it anymore though. She could barely feel the dozens of open knife wounds that were littered over her skin. They were nothing after all, not when compared to shrieking throb in her right arm. Two visits ago, Scarface had decided to take a knife—the same one she'd had on her person when they grabbed her—and peel most the skin from her upper arm. He then cauterized it with a few passes of a blow torch. She didn't really remember, she blacked out the moment the flame began to lick at her exposed flesh. She was unresponsive when they grabbed her and began dragging her away from the corner of the room. The scarred one was used to dragging her. Early on, she had flat out refused to go willingly to the only other room she'd been allowed to enter.

" _She always like this?"_ The new guy was speaking again.

" _Mm…not always, but mostly. She's a lot more amusing when you know what buttons to push."_

They were just beginning to pull her over the upraised doorway. _"Oh yea? And what buttons are tho—"_

He was cut off by a strangled hiss of pain as just seconds before he'd snatched her right arm across the door frame tearing at the fragile burned flesh. He barely caught a glimpse of the fury in her grey eyes before her foot connected with his head and he stumbled back. She snarled and drove her elbow mercilessly into a set of ribs when Scarface made to grab her from behind. For a moment she entertained the idea of running, but it didn't even matter. The new guy had jumped on her before she could even think about taking a step towards her freedom. She was knocked breathless when he threw her to the floor and pinned her. He wrapped his hands around her throat and squeezed. She dug her fingers in deep into his arms, gouging his flesh with barely there nails. She was close to fainting and a part of her hoped that'd be for the last time. It wasn't meant to be, though and she was confused when the pressure suddenly let up and the spots that had clouded her vision began to recede. It was full darkness that overtook her vision, however, when a fist impacted her temple. She blacked out to the sound of Scarface's chuckles and the new guy's curses.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

The room was quiet, even as it was open to the underground garden. The only sound—the occasional clack of the sōzu as the bamboo tube tipped over to empty its contents, merely to snap back up and repeat the journey. Kyoya paid it no mind. His gaze was lost in the jade depths of his tea. It had cooled some time ago, but like the sound of the sōzu, the fact hadn't registered. His mind was elsewhere and it had been for several hours—more specifically since his meeting with Sawada Tsunayoshi. Kyoya had a decision to make.

Sawada's question ran circles in his mind and he hated him for posing it to him.

_….Do you want to accept responsibility for this? …for her?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was two in the afternoon and Hayato had yet to sleep. He'd pretty much taken over the conference room. His phone was on the charger, but never far from him. The laptop in front of him was connected to the four other computers in the room and each screen displayed various information, from the woman's background to several recent actions of different Russian families. Hayato glared through his glasses at the headache forming behind his eyes. He was craving nicotine rather fiercely and had been for hours and was momentarily distracted by the thought of quitting the habit once and for all, but quickly shook it off, continuing his ravenous search.

"You'll have to rest at some point." The words were accompanied by a steaming mug of coffee being placed in front of him.

He lifted his hands from the keys and sighed. Hayato turned a tired glare at Lal and she ignored it in favor of placing her hands on her hips and giving him a challenging stare. He rolled his eyes. "I can't afford to rest," he bit out. "Jyuudaime—"

She huffed and held out a hand to stop him, "I know. I get it, I do." The harshness in her stare left as she continued to hold his gaze, "but you won't be able to help anyone if you work yourself into a coma. Not that woman and least of all Sawada."

Lal pulled out a chair and sat one seat down from him. "Just…take a break at least." When he looked as if he would argue she glared at him. "I'll help. Then at least there's still work being done."

He held in a grumble and looked away with a sigh, "Fine." Tossing his glasses onto the table, he lounged back into the chair stretching his stiff muscles before finally picking up the cup of coffee.

Satisfied, Lal had pulled the laptop over to her seat and began updating herself on the info. She'd only been at it for ten minutes when she'd frozen, seemingly trance like, her attention abducted by the document in front of her. She was looking at the woman's birth certificate and her eyes were all but glued to one specific bit of information. _That name_ …she hadn't seen it, least of all heard it spoken in nearly twenty years. _What was it doing here? It couldn't be…it_ couldn't _be the same person…could it?_

"What is it?" She almost missed Hayato's question despite his new position of hovering over her shoulder.

She frowned, unsure if she should share her suspicion, but in the end she turned to look at him. "I'm afraid things may be more complicated than originally thought."

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It wasn't the icy chill that woke her, but rather the lack of air. She gasped and sputtered as she forcefully tossed her head back from the water trough. She hadn't even noticed the fist curled in her hair until it shoved her head back under. Her arms jerked a she instinctively sought to free herself, but she wasn't surprised when she found them bound tightly behind her. Still she continued to thrash about, her desperation overriding anything else. Finally, after what seemed a life time she was pulled from the water and tossed back onto the floor.

She made to lunge to her feet, but instead cried out when her motion was halted by the feeling of nearly wrenching her arms from their sockets. A well placed foot on her wrists had caused that. She slowly tilted her gaze back to the floor, away from the room that she had grown intimately familiar with. In fact, she was sure the dark spots on the floor in front of her were the remains of her own dried blood. Without a word, she just sat there. Her labored breathing the only real sound in the room as she worked to catch her breath from nearly drowning. Charlie was waiting.

She was waiting to see what they did next. They didn't always question her—in fact, most of the time they just tried to make her scream until she couldn't any more. Her voice was hoarse because of it. They didn't give her much to eat or drink to begin with. She'd wake up some mornings and the bit of food in front of her would feel like sandpaper grating down her esophagus. As a result, she preferred it when they asked questions…and she hated herself for it. She wasn't stupid...she knew that's why they did it. They wanted her to talk, they were working on the idea that she'd look forward to the questions enough that she'd answer them effortlessly. _Not that it really mattered in the end_. She didn't know _anything._ She'd told them that from the start, but they didn't believe her. When it became apparent that they wouldn't, she stopped trying.

The sound of metal dragging across metal caused her to look up. It was the blonde today. He was like Scarface. He preferred making her bleed and if he could, he liked to burn her at the same time. The man behind him, dark haired with empty blue eyes was fond of breaking bones. She had less experience with him—broken bones just didn't seem to be as effective as the blonde's methods. She wasn't really sure which one she preferred. It hurt worse being cut up and burned, but they healed her. Having her bones broken while a momentary shock, didn't bother her as much…the problem with that was that they were never in a hurry to heal those injuries. The first week she was here, Empty Eyes had broken several of the bones in her hand. If she hadn't set the bones in her cell, she was sure they'd have healed in the wrong positions. _Honestly,_ though…she didn't really care so long as one of them finally went too far and _killed her._

The blonde gave her a half smile as he brought his latest tool into view: a harpoon—the tip of which glowed red hot. She tensed and looked away. She didn't want to see it, she didn't want to know what he planned on doing with that. Charlie clenched her teeth and steeled herself for the inevitable. A rough and calloused hand gripped her chin and with a harsh jerk, she found herself staring into his dark eyes, the heated metal burning brightly at the corner of her vision. He smiled. She wouldn't scream. _She wouldn't_. She wouldn't cry, she _couldn't_ …she didn't think she had any tears left.

She was wrong, however. The moment he drove the harpoon through her thigh, the heated metal pushing through her flesh with all the resistance of melting butter, she broke. Her scream tore raggedly at her throat, her eyes were overburdened by tears and chest heaved as she struggled to breathe through the sudden panic that had been set upon her. He jerked on the weapon and a strangled sob pushed its way from her throat as it cut and seared its way down, grinding against her bone. She fell over, her forehead resting against the metal floor when he suddenly wrenched the rod back out, tearing through brutally cauterized flesh. Charlie didn't bother to hope it was over; instead she was glad for the hazy feeling overtaking her. She wouldn't be conscious for much longer. _Of course,_ they never let her stay out for too long. She was sadly disappointed when he drove the harpoon back into her thigh with more force than before. She wasn't sure what drove her from unconsciousness, the pain…or the sound of her own agonizing shriek.

Her eyes were open, but she was unable to focus on him, the pain was so distracting, when he crouched in front of her, "Got a new question for you girl." She'd long been able to make sense of him through his thickly muddled accent. He tilted her head to look at him and she didn't bother resisting him—she wasn't even sure if she could. "Where's the ring?"

_…_

_…_

_…Ring?_

"…what?"


	3. Animal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rescue party arrives...

**Tooth & Nail**

_**Chapter Two: Animal** _

_It took a total of three days to locate her. Majority of that time had been spent identifying the name of the craft she'd been taken aboard of and tracing its location. Unfortunately, it was that last bit that was proving hard to attain. In the end, Hayato had been forced to make a trade with the rather youthful genius, Verde—a favor in return for the exact location of the container ship they were certain the woman was on. It was a rather steep price considering it took up literally only minutes of Verde's time, but Hayato acquiesced when the scientist gave his word that whatever form the favor took, it would be of little to no cost to Hayato, himself. Still, the right hand man was hard pressed to react when Verde revealed that he'd actually had the information less than sixty seconds into the call…the only reason it had stretched to a ten minute conversation had been due to haggling over the cost._

_**5:45 AM-International Waters: Southern Atlantic Ocean** _

Fitting the small device into his ear, Hayato tapped the diminutive button on its surface, "Are you sure this thing can make a quiet approach?"

"If you don't trust my work, then you should have never gotten on board," Spanner's droll voice buzzed from the device.

A laugh to his left and Hayato ignored the Rain guardian and instead stared out a small window and into the blindingly dense fog.

"He's right, you know." He didn't even need to look to see the smile on the Takeshi's face, "After all, we're almost there. Right, Spanner?"

The fog was so thick that even _they_ , hundreds of feet over the water, couldn't see where they were flying to. Thankfully _or not_ depending on how much faith you put into someone else's inventions, the aircraft they were on was being remotely piloted by Spanner through a series of cameras and satellite feeds. And of course, Hayato wasn't about to complain about the advantage this granted them over the ship they intended to invade.

" _No_ , actually."

Hayato perked up at that and with a scowl he growled out a response. "What do you mean, 'No, actually'? Where the hell are we, wrench-for-brains?"

"…hm." There was a clacking sound, the telltale noise of Spanner's custom made candy clacking against his teeth. "Insults won't help you make friends, Hayato-san."

Hayato clenched his teeth and bit back a growl; however before he could follow with a come-back, Spanner spoke again. "You're approaching the ship now."

"What? …I thought you said we weren't near it," he hissed out.

"No. I simply disagreed that you were 'almost there.'"

Hayato raged, "And just how the hell do you define 'almost there'?"

"More than thirty seconds away." The finality in the tone only annoyed him more and the Storm guardian inhaled sharply, fully intending on giving the engineer a verbal thrashing, but a sigh cut him off and he was suddenly reminded of the third and final passenger onboard. He turned his gaze to his right and stared at the man that hadn't said a word the entire way over. It was no surprise when Takeshi and Ryohei volunteered for his proposed three man crew, but he could still recall the stunned look on the boxer's face when he was all but commanded to stay behind. Of course, the boxer was practically delighted that is was Kyoya who all but insisted on taking his place. Eyeing the silent Cloud guardian who had seemingly tuned them out, Hayato was reminded of the importance of this mission and even more, of his curiosity. _Why did he come? Did Tsuna tell him to? …or did some part of that violent bastard actually feel responsible?_

He didn't dwell on it any longer as Spanner cut into his thoughts, "Ready to begin, whenever you are."

Grim determination hardening his face like a mask, Hayato met the seldom serious expression of Takeshi and out of curiosity, he chanced a look towards Kyoya and almost faltered at the sharp, steel like gaze that met him halfway. _Well_ …he certainly wasn't ignoring them now.

Moving his hand to the door, he took a calming breath. "We're ready."

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hayato cursed under his breath as he was forced to practically blast a hole through to the other side of the ship…and no…that wasn't the reason why. He tsked at the sound of movement around him, more would be assailants, hidden by the numerous cargo containers that surrounded him and switched out cartridges with practiced speed. A moment later he was blasting through several containers and by extension the enemy with a single shot of the modified Cloud cartridge. He was careful not to fire in the direction that he knew Takeshi had taken off in. That particular thought, however, led to a tic in his right brow as he was reminded of the fact that there was a third man to their crew…and said man had practically vanished the moment they dropped onto the ship. He was anything but stupid and given that he heard nothing similar to what was the rather familiar sound of Kyoya's brutal assault, yet could hear the metallic clink of Takeshi's blade several stories up, it was only logical to presume that Kyoya had gone below deck.

Nevertheless, despite knowing of his location, Hayato was annoyed by the fact that the action hadn't been cleared by the one leading the mission: _him._ Of course, what he found even more annoying…was the fact that he couldn't complain. Kyoya's actions were quite similar to what Hayato had intended to put into motion. Takeshi was better off not being in tight or enclosed spaces, so the cargo deck and the ship's lower levels were obviously not the best choices for him, as such a nod from Hayato sent him to the upper decks. In Hayato's own case, his choice of weaponry made him a hazard should he go below deck—he'd risk sinking the ship, so he was left clearing the cargo deck—which meant by default that Kyoya would have the more search intensive job of the lower decks. And so, despite Kyoya's actions not being wrong, Hayato's pride chaffed at the fact that the bastard had taken off before he even opened his mouth. He just hoped the bastard didn't screw it up and get the woman killed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

It was no secret that Hibari Kyoya loved to fight. Unfortunately, there were some out there that believed he liked to fight _anyone and anything_ …and those people were quite mistaken. It was true the man loved to fight, but what he truly loved was fighting someone who could challenge him. …and that was something he'd yet to find on this ship and as another body fell at his feet, he lamented his fate: stuck on a ship…with a bunch of _weaklings_. Thankfully, the quicker he tore through them, the sooner he could return home and find a fight more worth his time.

His tonfas, devoid of flame, were mere brief flashes of steel and another member of the ship's crew dropped, dead before his body even hit the ground—courtesy of a vicious uppercut. Kyoya barely heard the telltale whisper of the harpoon being thrown at him over the crunch of shattered vertebrae. As it was, he scarcely brought his tonfa up in time to deflect the surprisingly powerful throw. The fishing tool turned weapon burrowed it's oddly blackened tip into the wall next to him. Sparing the object a glance, he turned his attention to the wide figure stepping from a narrow doorway. Tall, easily over six feet in height and a broad build to match; blonde and stony faced, it was easy to see why he'd been recruited into the mob.

"How good of you to join us, Hibari. Had we known you'd come to visit, we would have welcomed you much better."

Kyoya scowled at the heavily accented words and was only thankful that it wasn't his mother tongue that had been butchered.

He said and did nothing when the behemoth crossed in front of him and removed the harpoon from the wall as if it hadn't in fact been buried six inches deep into a steel wall. Readjusting his hold on the fishing spear, he rolled his shoulders and favored Kyoya with what might have been an attempt at a nonchalant smile, but looked more like a friendly grimace. Without warning, the harpoon was speeding at him, the weapon having been thrust at his shoulder with all the precision of trained gladiator. Instinctively, he caught the blow with his tonfa—the metals grinding noisily before he parried the weapon up and away. Unfortunately, his surprise at the behemoth's skill left him open to his most obvious asset: his strength.

Kyoya forcibly ground his teeth together and shoved down the urge to cough or groan, when a shoulder barreled into his torso and bulldozed him into the wall. Not even a second later, a fist was slammed into his midsection and Kyoya couldn't stop the reflexive heave and he sneered at what was likely a fractured rib.

"It's nothing personal."

Kyoya glared down at him.

"Just orders, you understand, no?"

 _Orders?_ His grip tightened on his familiar weapons as the Russian reared back for another blow. "Wrong."

There. It was only a moment, but his opponent hesitated at his words. "I follow no one's orders." Violet flames erupted furiously over the blunted steel of his tonfas and before the beast of man could spare a glance at the vibrant light to his left, his life came to an end at the hand of the force that careened into his temple.

Kyoya tensed at the sound of running down the hall, but otherwise remained unmoving. His attention was firmly held by the latest body at his feet. He'd been bored…and in his boredom, he underestimated his opponent and he paid the price for it. He wasn't entirely aware of his injured rib, but he knew he would be later. And that simple fact disgusted him. The flames on his tonfas died out, just as his associates rounded the corner.

They came to a sudden halt and stared at him. The amount of bodies that littered the floor were hardly surprising, but he supposed his current state was. His suit was rumpled and noticeably wrinkled from the blows that had impacted his torso and his hands still grasped his weapons with a white knuckled grip. It was the swordsman that broke the silence first. "Hibari…are you o—"

He didn't continue due to the murderous glare that Kyoya turned on him. He held his gaze for a long moment before turning his back to them and continuing down the hall, ignoring, but all the while annoyed by the wrinkles in his suit. He was mildly aware of them following behind him and didn't care until the Storm guardian chose to approach him.

"Hibari. …it happens."

"Gokudera," he cut in before the right hand could continue, "I neither need nor want your coddling." He continued on without a single glance in the other man's direction, but it didn't matter. He could still feel the anger welling up in the notoriously hotheaded man.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Hahah." Takeshi's hand clapped down on Hayato's shoulder. "That's Hibari-san for you."

The man's attempt to calm him down was dually noted, but Hayato was hardly placated and instead swatted his hand away with a snort. It didn't matter how old they got or how long they knew each other. Hibari Kyoya would always be distant with them, even with his own subordinates. Hayato had seen it firsthand. Scowling at Kyoya's back, he hurried a long behind him, Takeshi close behind. This was no time to let personal issues get in the way. They didn't get too far however when Kyoya stopped at a corner, his gaze seemingly held by something in front of him. Hayato blinked at the sight.

Dead bodies were nothing new for the young, but experienced Mafioso, but a dead body where there shouldn't one was usually always problematic. He took in the details. The main was of average height, dark haired, but easily identified by an embedded like scar forming on his left cheek. Of course the most noticeable thing about his corpse was the cause of his death. He'd been gutted. Hayato's expression twisted in disgust at the sight of intestines spilled out on the floor. When he looked up, however, Kyoya was already making his way to the next body. Scowl still in place, Hayato followed, but paused at the only room on the hall. The door was wide open and inside the dimly lit room he could just make out what looked to be a mattress on the floor. He frowned, but before he could make something of it, Takeshi called to him lowly, "Hayato," his head gesturing forward.

When he caught up, Kyoya had shifted his weapons and held both tonfa in his right hand, his left reaching out to remove what looked to be a… _a hunting knife?_ Sure enough, it was a long hunting knife that had been removed from the second body's throat. Obviously well cared for, the edge was noticeably sharp and the gut hook that curved back over its tip promised a painful end if used the right way. It wasn't exactly the most common choice of weapon amongst the mafia, let alone the Russian mob. However, Hayato didn't think too much of it considering he'd seen an empty knife holster of suitable matching size on the gutted man's side. That, of course, did not explain the almost amused look on Kyoya's face as he studied the weapon. He considered commenting on it when a noise shifted their attention to the next corner. Inwardly, Hayato scowled, they were going to be circling the same level at this rate, still he didn't complain when Kyoya stood and made to investigate. After all, it wouldn't due to be careless in their search…even if Kyoya was the one leading instead of him. If he thought rounding the first two corners had been surprising, rounding the third corner was astonishing. There she was—the very same woman that they were there to rescue.

She was on the floor, her arms wound tightly around a man's neck, his body practically in her lap. The man in her grasp struggled, grunting and choking for air as he pulled at her grip and snatched at her hair, but she didn't budge. Instead, her blood stained hand gripped the top of his head as she inhaled and with a sudden exertion of force, she pulled to the right. The snap that followed hailed his death and she relinquished her grasp. Managing to drag his gaze away, Hayato took notice of only one other body in the hall and was surprised to see that she was still alive. A woman, nearly blue in the face, the rattling breath as she struggled to breathe all too telling of what was likely a crushed windpipe—she was asphyxiating. She wouldn't be alive for much longer. Looking back down the hall towards the would-be _civilian_ , he frowned when he saw the hunting knife go skidding towards her. A glance to his left confirmed that Kyoya had tossed it to her.

She plucked the knife from the ground and held it with such expertise that it was undeniable who was responsible for the previous two kills. However, that didn't explain why Hibari had just tossed it to her. Frowning, he shifted his stare to said man.

"Considering all the noise you made over them last time. You'd think you'd keep better track of your weapons, woman." Despite the familiarity the words lent to him, Kyoya's tone was as devoid of friendliness as usual and in fact seemed almost mocking in nature.

Hayato was relieved that he wasn't the only one watching the strange scene play out as he noticed the look of confusion on Takeshi's face. In fact both of them were confused when the woman reacted to Hibari's words.

Her shoulders tensed at the sound of his voice and Hayato was positive her grip tightened on the knife for just a moment. " _Kyoya…"_ The name was spoken low enough that the meaning behind it was impossible to tell, but he was positive that it wasn't the tone of someone pleased to see them. That was when she looked up at them. He felt himself stiffen as he fought off the urge to reach for his box weapon. The look on her face, or better yet…just her eyes—if he didn't know better, he'd say she'd gone completely _feral._

She rolled the body from her lap and stood and whatever feeling of a threat he'd felt from her was quickly mollified as he took in the rest of her. She only had on a dingy wife beater, stained beyond repair by old and new blood and a pair of black shorts that Hayato was positive were meant to be worn as an undergarment, but it wasn't her clothes or lack thereof that caused him to relax and tense at the same time. She was littered with scars, majority of them he could over look, but the open wounds were something else entirely. Most of them were barely healed and several of them had been ripped open by her recent activity. The ones that held his attention the strongest were a festering gash on her left bicep, a horrible burn that covered the whole of her right upper arm, and what looked to be a barely healed stab wound in her left thigh. All in all, it was a wonder she was standing, let alone walking—albeit slowly—towards them. She didn't seem to pay them any mind, all of her attention was decidedly focused on Kyoya.

She stopped just in front of him. "…I'm glad you're here."

He didn't respond verbally, only cocked his head to the side, showing that Hayato and Takeshi weren't the only confused ones.

She pressed on regardless, "I… _I was afraid I'd die first_."

Hayato watched with interest as a frown pulled its way onto Hibari's face.

"See…there was something I wanted to—"

Kyoya cut her off, "Woman, what are you…" he stopped as the hunting knife slipped from her grip and clattered to the floor and he frowned at the sight.

The moment his gaze dropped, however, she rotated her upper body and with all the strength she could summon in that one moment, slammed a left hook into his face.

Both the Storm and Rain guardians were frozen in shock and unsure of what to say or do as the Cloud guardian's head was thrown to the left, the small, but existing spatter of blood that hit the wall confirming the force of the blow.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Charlie stared at him. Waiting for him to turn his gaze back to her and sure enough he did, the look of pure agitation burning in his eyes. She trailed down to note the blood dripping from his lower lip and was immensely pleased that she'd injured him. It was not only fair, but a rather small tradeoff for all that she'd suffered because of him.

"It's your fault. It's _all_ your fault."

The look in his eyes calmed and she scowled. "First Dakota. And then… _this_ ," she hissed to him, her scowl deepening as fatigue began to creep into her limbs. "You just had to come _tumbling_ over _my_ fucking fence." She was still angry, but it wasn't just rage that was coating her tone. " _Why?_ …why couldn't you just have dropped dead somewhere else? Preferably where I couldn't stumble over your half dead corpse and play good Samaritan?" Her words were bitter and she hated the near hysteric tone that had slipped in. Still, she refused to let go of her rage, "Dakota's dead. And I nearly died…because of _you_."

There was just the slightest narrowing of his eyes at her words, but before she could ask him about it, someone else spoke up.

"Actually, Ms., that's not necessarily true."

She'd forgotten that he hadn't arrived alone. Charlie hadn't paid the other two much attention, thinking that they were his lackeys, but looking at them now, she realized that much like Kyoya and his ridiculous purple dress shirt, these two wore similar clothes in blue and red. Color coordinated criminals? _Really?_ She didn't linger too long on their appearances, however, "And who the hell are you?" She winced internally as her voice cracked with her raised volume.

The man in the red shirt scowled at her, an expression that he practically seemed born to wear, "There are more important things to worry about."

"Oh yeah?" Her voice was going in and out now, but she found she didn't care. She wouldn't care even if her throat started bleeding at this rate, instead she yelled at him. "What else should I be worried about? You see anyone else trying to kill me?"

"No." He was annoyingly calm. "You should be concerned with the fact that even without you _ever_ have come across Hibari Kyoya, you were _always_ a possible and _likely_ target for the Russian mob."

She blinked, taken aback. "What?"

From her peripheral vision, she could see Kyoya looking at them strangely as well.

"And why the hell would _I_ be a target for the fucking Russian mob?"

"Because," the grey haired male paused to take a breath and Charlie found herself wanting to throttle him for his delay, "that's what happens when your father steals from a prominent Russian family."

She froze. She could hardly process what he'd said and when she did, it didn't compute very well. "My father… _my_ … _father_ … _steal_ from the Russian mob?" Her words may have been whispered, but the disbelief in them was loud enough. "Are you out of your fucking minds?" Her uneven voice echoed in the halls and she flinched at Kyoya's sigh.

"Woman…" She ignored him.

There was a slight sound of annoyance from him and then, "…Charlie."

"What," she snapped out and turned to look at him, but the moment she took her eyes off the other two, she was unconscious.

_…fucking Hibari Kyoya._

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_**~Five days later~** _

Fuuta sighed heavily as he shut the door behind him.

"How is she?"

He jumped as he jerked his gaze from the floor, "Ah, Tsuna-nii." A second sigh followed unbidden as he looked away. "Physically, Thompson-san is…well, she's recovering. There were several areas where the scar tissue was preventing proper healing, so they had to be surgically removed. Ryohei–nii and Tetsuya-san helped to speed up the healing of the more serious injuries. …Physically, Thompson-san should make a full recovery in a few weeks."

Fuuta tried not to fidget under the shorter, but older male's gaze as he let out a tired, "I see. That's good, of course…but it's not what I meant."

Fuuta deflated a bit as his gaze fell to the floor once more, "I know."

"How is she mentally, Fuuta?"

He swallowed. "She seems more…calm. She's definitely more rational now, but…I can't say if her behavior is normal or not,…as the only person who knew her prior to the incident…" he trailed off knowing that his older brother figure would know who he spoke of.

"Kyoya," Tsuna finished for him.

"Yes." … _ironically_ the one person she was forbidden from having contact with.

Tsuna gave a nod before giving the young teacher a small smile, "Well, then I guess that's the best we can expect for now. You'll keep trying, won't you?"

"Of course, Tsuna-nii! ...Besides," Fuuta finished with a smile of his own, "I don't think Thompson-san is really a bad person."

Tsuna smiled again, bigger this time and turned away from him, heading down the headquarters hall, the smile leaving his face and being replaced by a mixture of thoughtfulness and pity. He had wanted her to survive and he was happy that she had indeed lived and even more thankful that her mental state was more or less intact. However, it would seem that her sanity had come at a price. The only reason she'd managed to stay sane was because she had channeled all of her feelings of helplessness and rage and laid the blame on one person. Hibari Kyoya. Tsuna sighed and fought back the urge to grip his hair in desperation. It was all he could do, to keep them separated!

They'd arrived four nights ago and while he hadn't been surprised to see that she was unconscious, he wasn't exactly pleased that it was because Kyoya had knocked her out. Thankfully, she awoke a few hours later and had devoured the relatively simple meal Fuuta had fetched for her. At the time, he'd thought that, injuries aside, she'd be just fine. Still, he should have known she wouldn't handle the news well…

_"It's gone. They took it," she questioned him, but stated at the same time._

_He frowned at the blank look in her eyes. "I truly am sorry, Ms. Thompson" He sighed and explained, "When you didn't show up to the meeting they took legal action. Of course, shortly after you were reported missing…and when there was no trace found of you aside from signs of kidnapping…" he trailed off, the knowing looking in her eyes almost preventing him from speaking the rest. "You were declared deceased a few weeks ago."_

Tsuna cringed at the memory. They'd taken the only thing she had left according to the records he'd seen. The reserve was her home and a likely a remnant of the woman who'd created it, her mother. She was the last of her family; there was no one to keep the case going.

_She choked back a sob and he fidgeted in his seat as her eyes began to shine with unshed tears. He didn't want her to cry, but he knew it was unlikely that a person wouldn't cry over their loss…as such he chose to be the one to break the news to her. He didn't particularly trust anyone else to do it. However, before she could shed a tear, she took a breath and seemed to steel herself. She clenched her teeth and swallowed another sob, "but…but, wait!" There was a confused look to her hopeful expression, "Can't…I just show up and say I'm not dead?"_

_His gaze softened. "And what would you tell them, Ms. Thompson?"_

_"That I was kidnapped! That I was …I was…"she slumped in the chair, "held by the Russian mob." She quieted as she stared off into space._

He was both relieved and saddened by her actions. It could only mean that she realized why she couldn't do just as she suggested. For her to reveal that she was kidnapped and her whereabouts would bring about an entire fleet of questions. Why would they kidnap her? How did she escape? How was she affiliated with the mafia? And those questions were just the tip of the iceberg. As sad as it was, she was probably better of being declared deceased. After all, according to Hayato the entire cargo ship had been _cleaned._ No witnesses left. The mob may suspect the Vongola's involvement, but for the time being they had no proof of anything.

_This time when her breath shuttered, he doubted she'd be able to keep the tears at bay. Unfortunately, that was the moment that Kyoya had decided to walk in…_

_The door didn't exactly slam open, but it wasn't quietly opened either. He'd nearly forgotten that he'd asked Kyoya to speak with him, but to be honest, he hadn't expected to see the man for several hours. He was after all, prone to taking long naps._

_"Sawada."_

_"Hibari-san."_

_He noticed Kyoya's eyes trail from him to Thompson-san. He'd been wrong when he thought she couldn't hold back a second time. In fact, the moment Kyoya had stepped into the room, she'd gone quiet and rigid in her seat. She didn't look at either of them, instead she stared down at her lap, the tangled mess her hair had been reduced to while captured effectively hiding her face._

_Kyoya didn't stare long and returned his gaze to the younger man, "What is it that you want, Sawada?"_

_He'd wanted to talk to him about Thompson-san, but not in front of her, obviously. So he asked him to escort the woman to a room so that she could get some rest before they see to treating her injuries. Kyoya stared at him for a long moment as he seemed to have a problem with that particular request, but when Tsuna only held his gaze with a smile, he snorted and looked away._

Tsuna didn't know how he expected the two to react, but it certainly hadn't been… _that…_

_"Get up, woman."_

Tsuna had frowned slightly at the rude approach, but recognized it merely as Kyoya's way of doing things. Things took a turn for the worst, however, when Kyoya got tired of asking— _telling_ —her to get up. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet…

And that was when Tsuna knew that he could never allow these two in the same room ever again.

_Tsuna stared in shock at what had just happened, his own surprise having prevented him from stopping it._

_Kyoya grunted, the sound only enhancing the pained grimace on his face as he glared down at the woman picking herself off of the floor—where he'd thrown her down to after she attacked him…and succeeded. His gaze shifted to his left shoulder, to the spot just beneath his collarbone. A place that now sported a fountain pen protruding from it. When Kyoya looked back at the woman, Tsuna knew then that he had to act._

_"Kyoya," his tone refused to be ignored and Kyoya turned a vehement stare on him. "Leave." He could see the resistance growing, but he wouldn't allow it, not in this case. "Now."_

_Kyoya narrowed his eyes at him and the look of annoyance was clear, but in the end he did as he was told. Which to be honest was a rare thing._

It was after he confronted Thompson-san that he realized that it was likely impossible for the two to ever again interact. _…not so long as Thompson-was was determined to kill Kyoya._

Tsuna sighed when he shut his office door behind him. Walking over to his desk, he removed his blazer and laid it over the side of his desk. A moment later he was easing himself into his chair. Another sigh escaped him and his gaze slid over his lone office, devoid of any other life. This time when the urge to sigh came over him, he thrust his hands into his hair and pulled, dropping his head soundly onto the surface of his desk. _…He really didn't know how to deal with this…_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

"Charles Thompson. Military Black Ops. Took up work as a mercenary for a few years after an early retirement?"

Lal nodded, "Charles was good at his job, but it was hard not to notice that the man loved the thrill of combat a little too much."

"I see. So his retirement was forced?"

"Most likely."

"Then he picked up mercenary work as a replacement thrill?"

"To my knowledge, yes."

"But, he didn't stick with it for very long. What changed?"

"I wouldn't know. He wasn't very talkative about it, but given the dates, I'm guessing it was a woman. Looks like he was married to Erina less than a month after I last saw him and not even a year later, the girl was born."

"Charlene Erin Thompson."

"…Moron was completely unoriginal."

She didn't get a verbal response this time and so Lal looked up to see the boy's face obscured by a porcelain cup as he slurped at the last dregs of coffee.

"…that had better be decaf, Reborn."

The cup was placed on the table a moment later. A glint shone in the boy's coal black eyes, "Need I remind you that we're the same age?"

She snorted, "Only in years of existence. You still have at the very least 6 if not 10 more years of physical growth left. You sure, you should jeopardize your height by drinking coffee at such a young age?" She trailed off knowing the former infant—former adult hitman, now pre-teen was ignoring her.

"…And she shows signs of her father's talents?" Lal fought the urge to roll her eyes, but answered regardless, "I wouldn't know, I haven't seen her in action, but if Kyoya's and Hayato's reports are anything to go by…it's likely."

"Hm…then I think I have an idea."


	4. Ch. 3: A Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie gets some answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please forgive the massive delay. Life…school…work…they all hate me…and my ADHD just capitalizes on it all. I spent so much time away from this story that when I came back to it, I was kind of flabbergasted by where I was going with it. At some point I will probably rewrite the previous story and chapters, but for now just be aware that I plan on taking my work more seriously in developing its depth and doing my best to mature the characters as they should be.
> 
> Disclaimer: This is the last disclaimer that I will post for this fic, ever. I do not own “Katekyoushi Hitman REBORN!” or any of its related elements. This is a fan based transformative work to which I make no profit despite being the creator of Charlene Erina Thompson a.k.a. Charlie, affiliated characters and story lines to said character. I own only myself, my dog, my collection of rocks, books, and an ADD fueled brain which makes creative progress an uncontrollable beast at the best of times.

**Tooth & Nail**

**_Chapter Three: A Proposition_ **

            She wasn’t sure what she expected when she awoke days ago in the underground HQ of Vongola, but the young and undeniably friendly Fuuta was not it. He was younger than she’d first assumed. When she quietly said as much during her second day awake, he laughed and told her, “Maturity goes a long way for me.” She supposed it must as she’d frequently had to remind herself that the man taking care of her was in fact five years her junior. Still, it was nice to forget that fact and just enjoy the predominantly silent company of someone that didn’t somehow agitate her. Even her father and grandfather had managed to agitate her like clockwork with their gruffness…probably where she got it from. It was on the sixth day, however, the morning following her “reunion” with Kyoya that Fuuta made the decision to bump up her “therapy.” Well, that was how she thought of it, anyway. Despite never having said as much his constant nannying of her and his persistent attempts to be social despite her intense desire to be left alone spoke volumes to her. What he _actually_ said was, “I don’t know about you, but I’d get rather bored just staying in this room day in and day out. How about we take a walk around the base? I can show you where everything is. That way you won’t need me when you want to go somewhere.”

            As much as the knowledge of the layout appealed to her inner escape artist...truth be told, she rather liked being in a climate controlled room with a soft bed where she never had to worry about someone barging in only to drag her out kicking and screaming. Hell, she even had a private bathroom and Fuuta was always bringing her food. Why would she want to go anywhere? And so she told him “no” immediately. She didn’t know anyone here aside from Fuuta, that Sawada leader guy, and the jackass. Quite frankly she didn’t want to meet anyone else, so she was quite certain that Fuuta would kiss her ass before she willingly left her sanctuary. _She wasn’t budging_ —no matter how polite and genuine his pleading.

…So an hour later she was wondering how in the hell she ended up meandering alongside Fuuta as he gave her the guided tour of the living facilities. He was just too damned nice. She felt like shit after five minutes of him telling her that it was okay for her to say no and that she didn’t have to do anything if she didn’t want to and how she was probably still exhausted and overwhelmed… _blah, blah, blah_. It agitated her. _Yes._ She was tired, but it was emotional not physical. _Yes._ She was overwhelmed, but she didn’t need to be babied. She wasn’t new to being in shock—even if this _was_ the most traumatic thing in her life she’d ever experienced—she knew herself well enough to know that she was just moping now. If she wanted to get past it, she’d have to shake it off and keep moving, _but_ …she didn’t want to move past it. She didn’t even want to accept that it happened…and yet…there Fuuta was…being all nice and understanding and…it was _sickening._ She was going to vomit from the guilt, she just knew it. And so she changed her tune and now she was following him around, grunting in reply to most of his comments, if she even replied at all. Mostly, she just dragged her feet, an easy enough task in the padded slippers he’d given her and tugged at the new clothes she was wearing; a pair of black sweat pants and a white tee shirt—all courtesy of Fuuta.

The walk was by no means a short one, but despite her previous injuries, she noticed that she had no problem moving around. She could only assume that the recovery process _,_ that she’d been _conveniently_ unconscious for, was to blame. Charlie had in fact noticed a lot about her body; primarily the lack of several scars. She may not have accounted for every little nick and cut she’d received aboard the ship, but she had quite an idea on the extent of the damage that her body has sustained. And yet, when she came to, there was nothing but smooth skin in place of cringe worthy wounds. Well, most of them. She could still plainly see marks left behind from the worst of her injuries, but the scars looked not only incredibly well healed, but nowhere near days old. If she were to see those scars on any other person she’d think they were from wounds a decade past. It was just yet another thing she chose not to question for the sake of her sanity in the unending crazy event her life had become ever since she’d met… _him._

“Did you hear me, Ms. Thompson?” Not once had Fuuta ever spoken Japanese to her, but she had a strong feeling it was the primarily spoken language around here. For one, the signs were everywhere. No, _literally_. There were signs near bathing areas, toilets, and the kitchen and the top language on all of them was Japanese. Beneath them, if she cared to pay that much attention there looked to be English and what she guessed might have been Spanish or maybe Italian translations.

“Ms. Thompson?” He was calling her again and she noted once more, as she had from the first time she met him, that in spite of what appeared to be great fluency in English, he had an accent that she was ninety-nine percent certain was of European origins. Probably Italian…. _Italy. Mafia-related. Yea_. She was pretty sure the third language on the signs was Italian.

“ _Charlie?_ ”

She blinked and found herself meeting Fuuta’s gaze. “What?” She cringed when her voice came out like a croaked snarl, but given the exhausted expression already on her face, she was certain it looked like she meant to snarl. Probably her fault, she supposed. She hadn’t really spoken much in the days she’d been here and was recovering from severe dehydration according to Fuuta, her unofficial caretaker. _That_ , she believed. She was thirsty a lot, but often too lost in thought to really bother with the pitcher of water on her nightstand; too busy thinking about the events of the past few months and then too busy trying not to think about them. Fuuta frequently brought her fresh water even when she didn’t touch a drop of it. Oh. He was speaking again.

“I was wondering if you felt up to meeting a colleague of mine?”

She blinked at him. “Do I have to?”

He returned the blink, seemingly mildly surprised by her deadpan response. “Well, no. You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to, Ms. Thompson.”

“You just called me Charlie a few seconds ago.”

“Ah,” he smiled as if caught, “I suppose I did. Would you prefer that?”

She shrugged, “I guess. It feels like it would better disguise your not-so-subtle doctoring of me.”

“E-eh?” He seemed caught off guard for a moment and Charlie cocked her head.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice you traipsing _ever_ so gently around me? Testing my mental limits? Monitoring my dietary intake?” He was beginning to redden now, embarrassed no doubt, but she pressed on. “I’m in shock over my life, Fuuta, not stupid or blind.” That said, she sighed and looked away, dispassionately observing the second hand ticking of the kitchen’s clock.

Charlie was only mildly surprised when he suddenly burst into a smile—he had one of those sunny dispositions that usually annoyed her. “I do believe that’s the most you’ve said all day.”

She most certainly did not return his smile and instead stared at him blankly, “Oh? Did I break a record?”

Fuuta laughed and her lips twitched into an almost frown. “Not at all, Charlie. I’m just happy to hear you engaging in conversation. Usually all I get from you are a few huffs and yes or no’s….mostly no’s.”

He had the decency to look abashed when she glared at him. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but I was _never_ a big conversationalist. Even before…before all….,” she sighed forcefully, clenching her jaw before forcing out the words with a shrug, “before… _whatever the fuck this is_ ,” her gaze once more trailing away as she finished.

 

Fuuta was quiet for a long moment, no doubt observing her again. “Ms. Thompson—”

“Charlie.”

“Ah, yes. My mistake. Charlie…would you…would you like to know what all of this is?”

She didn’t react immediately, but after several seconds she lifted her gaze to him and for once there was more than apathy found there. Instead, for just that moment in time, Fuuta found himself nearly bowled over by the amount of desperation conveyed in her targeted stare, “…I…I can know? You’ll tell me? You’ll give me _answers_?”

And just like that the desperation was gone, replaced by an intense focus that was only emphasized by the now closing distance between them as she determinedly approached him.

He faltered by the unexpected change and replied with a hesitant, “ _Well_ …perhaps.”

“ _Perhaps?_ ” This time she intentionally snarled.

Fuuta sighed. “It’s not my decision to make.”

“Whose is it? That Sawada guy with the hair?” Charlie gestured wildly in mockery of Sawada Tsunayoshi’s fluffy spikes and Fuuta nearly grinned in spite of the seriousness of the conversation.

“No, not him.”

“Then who?”

Fuuta truly was grinning now. After days of blank stares and sluggish movement he was beginning to get an idea of who Charlene Thompson was and apathetic, thankfully, did not fit the usual bill. “Ah, well that would be my colleague. Well, more like a mentor, or perhaps _senpai_.” He chuckled at his joke.

Charlie just frowned at the unfamiliar word, “You mean the guy you wanted me to meet?”

Amused, but relaxed now, Fuuta nodded. “The very one and same.”

She glared at him. “So, what? I meet him and he’ll just decide whether or not to tell me?”

“Ummm…maybe? He may test you first.”

“ _Test me_? For what?”

He sighed, “I don’t know. To be honest….he’s really… _unorthodox_.”

The glare returned full force. “…but he’s the one with all the info? Or…I guess the one who _decides_ whether or not to give me the info?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“ _Okay?_ ”

“Did I fucking stutter? Let’s go. Why are we just standing here? Are we meeting him in the kitchen?” She snapped her arm out to gesture to the aforementioned room to her left.

“Of course not.” Fuuta smiled down at her. “He’s waiting in a different part of the base.”

“Well then, _lead the way_.”

His good natured smile and obvious amusement made her want to punch him, so when he replied, “As you wish, Ms. Charlie,” and turned away from her, she couldn’t help scowling at his back.

             

            She had mistakenly assumed that wherever this colleague was that they were nearby. However, given the distance they’d traveled and the amount of turns taken, hallways traversed, and even a surprise trip down an elevator, she was certain they were clear on the other side of the base—which was saying something because she hadn’t even realized the base was big enough to have “another side.” She’d thought Sawada’s office was the end of it, but if she had to guess now, she’d say his office was somewhere in the middle. After what felt like miles of aimless walking, he stopped at a plain door no different than any other on the hall and opened it. He gestured in with a smile, “I’ll see you for lunch, Ms. Charlie.”

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

            The room Fuuta had led her to was uncomfortably familiar. The plain steel walls were nothing new. She’d noticed that all the walls in this wing of the base seemed to be made of the metal. This room in particular, however, could easily have been pulled from any police drama. A single table in the center of the room, a chair on either side of it, and most telling of all, the wide panel of reflective glass on the wall to her left; an interrogation room if ever she’d seen one and she had indeed seen a few in her lifetime. _Funny. Wasn’t she the victim here?_ Still there were a few unusual things about the room. For one, it was rather large—biggest interrogation room she’d ever seen. Even at a whisper, Charlie was sure her voice would echo.

            She’d taken a seat in one of the chairs, sitting anything but appropriately in it. From the moment she’d entered the room, her wandering gaze could only look away from the mirror for so long. She didn’t normally think of herself as the paranoid type—even after the whole kidnapping thing—but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched. It didn’t help that next to the viewing window was a conveniently placed door; a door opposite of the entrance she herself had used. Tearing her eyes from the glass uneasily, she moved them to study the room itself. At first she wasn’t much concerned with its large barren walls, but she soon realized the walls weren’t as bare as she’d thought.     

            There were _marks_. Deep and wide, furrowed gouges marred the walls like welts on metallic skin. They were infrequently clustered with unusually deep dents that more resembled pock marks from a distance. And yet, the real curiosity grabber were the brown and black scorch marks seared sporadically around the room—occasionally overlapping the previously seen damage. _What the hell did they do in here? Beat somebody with a blowtorch?_ Highly doubtful, but it wasn’t as if she’d had much to go off of. Either way, the thoughts of what would cause that kind of damage ran amuck in her head and did nothing to soothe her uneasiness. Charlie continued to stew in her thoughts for all of five minutes before the door finally opened. She _knew_ someone was in there.

            Maybe it was because the rest of the base was so sanitary and the air so well-filtered, but she smelled him before she saw him. Her nose twitched at the warm aromatic scent of a good brew and she found herself wondering when the last time she’d had coffee—good or bad—was. Yet, as nostalgically pleasant as the scent was, it covered another. This one ever so slight and barely there, but it too was familiar—even more so to her. It was pervasive to her senses and gave rise to a gut churning anxiety. It was the smell of _gunpowder;_ a smell she usually linked to comfort and safety, but here…so seemingly out of place; it was all she could do to desperately stamp down on the adrenaline in her veins as she gripped the edge of the table, blunted nails scratching at its surface.

            The shadows in the doorway stretched across the floor, eclipsing the figure that stepped into its frame and her first impression was that of a rather tall man. Then he stepped into the dimly lit room a second later and Charlie blinked owlishly in bewilderment when he was not only shorter than expected, but shorter than your average man. …because he was _not_ —a man, that is. She watched with sceptic eyes as the boy, perhaps teenager traversed the floor to the chair across from her. The closer he got, the more foolish she felt; her anxiety quickly exchanging itself with embarrassment.  She’d been frightened by a prepubescent boy, after all. Albeit, a well-dressed one, but a boy nonetheless. He was dressed in tailored black slacks, fancy black dress shoes (she had no knowledge of brands to care, but was instead cheap enough to know expensive when she saw it,) an orange dress shirt that was just too obnoxious to be anything but a statement, paired with a fitted and buttoned black vest and matched with a slender black tie. The cherry on top of it all was the hat. _A goddamned fedora._ Perched on what looked to be a head of wild black spikes, it was black with a matching orange band around its base. Tilted forward currently, it released a few wayward spikes at the back of his head, but shaded his gaze in a way that was unusually predatory for someone so young. Emboldened by the absurdity of it all she scowled when he spoke.

            “Comfy?” His voice was every bit that of a teenage boy on the cusp of puberty.

            She snorted. “Why am I here?” She questioned, gesturing to the room, but also her situation.

            He raised a hand to adjust his hat and for the first time she noticed the thick manila folder tucked at his side by his left hand.

            “Why do you _think_ you’re here?”

            At his mocking reply she lifted her gaze from the folder and flinched when she met the flat stare of sharp coal black eyes. Momentarily unnerved, she gathered herself and inwardly winced at her hesitation before throwing back, bitterly, “I haven’t committed a crime.” The word _murder_ flitted across her mind rather suddenly, but she quickly stamped it down as she told herself that she’d done nothing outside of self-defense.

            “No.” His voice became more upbeat as the mockery increased. “ _You_ haven’t.”

            She frowned, straightening in her seat, her posture becoming defensive. “And what _the hell_ is that supposed to mean?”

            His response was immediate as the folder was tossed in front of her where it landed on the desk with a heavy thud, the sound echoing to the far corners of the room. “Why don’t you read and find out?”

            With that said, he turned back towards the viewing room, walking away without a care in the world. She’d only just torn her gaze away to land on the folder when he spoke again. “And try to be quick about it. I’ve got better things to do than babysit.”

            She scoffed at his back in a disbelieving fashion, turning back to the file and quickly flipping it open. She glanced at the first page and was abruptly thrown off by the thick black lines that obscured most of the printed text. Despite this she skimmed over its available content and comprehended the page well enough to know people died, someone did their job, someone went rogue, and all in all, the whole ordeal was classified. … _but_ , she frowned, _what did any of that have to do with her?_

            Irritated, she flipped the page over and froze—her mind coming to a screeching halt along with her body. Stapled to the top left corner was a photo of a young man. It was a headshot, but she could plainly make out the upper portions of a military uniform. He had suntanned skin—skin that otherwise would have been fair—wind-swept sandy blonde hair, grey-blue eyes held in a challenging stare, and an all-too familiar devil may care grin stretched across his face. The name next to the photo: Charles Anthony Thompson. _Her father._

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

            “Quit fidgeting.” The reprimand came quick and was accompanied only by the sounds of a handheld coffee grinder. Sawada Tsunayoshi laughed lightly, mildly amused that even now with his hands firmly on the reigns of the beast called the Vongola, he was still prone to nervous habits. And really, was there any surprise that his former mentor would catch him in the act? _None at all._ The real surprise was that the reprimand wasn’t accompanied by a blow to his head or gut. Even years after the Spartan abuse, he had to fight off the instinct to flinch whenever Reborn pointed out a flaw of his. But, perhaps, some flaws were okay in the end. After all, did it really matter if he fiddled with his cufflinks a bit?

            “You’re developing a habit, Tsuna. Keep it up and that’ll be third cufflink to need replacement in two weeks.”

            Tsuna paused. Had it really only been two weeks since all this chaos had gotten dumped in his lap? He did the math and inwardly deflated. Yes, yes it had been. He sighed wearily and looked over at Reborn, who had moved past the grinding stage and was currently entering the brewing stage. It was always interesting to watch him meticulously go through the motions of making his preferred beverage. Not once has Tsuna seen him use a standard coffee maker in the ten plus years he’d known him—although to be honest, the hitman had cut back quite a bit in the early years of his body’s growth. It was only recently that he’d picked up the habit again; seemingly unbothered by the potential harm it could do to his growth. He blinked when Reborn suddenly turned to look at him.

            “What is it now?”

            “Eh?” He blinked, puzzled.

            “What’s bothering you, DameTsuna?”

            Tsuna cringed at the nickname. It was still an insult, but only Reborn could say it in a way that brought more of a nostalgic comfort instead of the sinking feeling of failure he’d once associated with it. Even knowing that, Reborn only spoke it when the two were alone and Tsuna was being too contemplative— _ahhh_. Tsuna laughed at himself, “I’m really obvious, aren’t I, Reborn?”

            The hitman eyed the leader with a knowing stare, before shrugging, “To your family? _Always_. It’s not a bad thing by default.” He turned back to his coffee, knowing that Tsuna would continue.

            “Mmm.” Tsuna nodded, letting his gaze wander over to the glass. He sighed again, “I’m just…worried.”

            “You’re always worried, DameTsuna. It’s good to be cautious, but you’re going to drive yourself to an early grave with the way you worry. Don’t do your enemy’s work for them.”

            The young boss cracked a smile, “I don’t think I’m that bad—”, but Reborn wasn’t listening, instead he pressed on in his criticism.

            “Ahhh….and then _poor Kyoko_. She’ll be left all alone, a pure and innocent maiden mourning the loss of her idiotic lover. The line of new suitors will be out the door. Surely, your guardians mou—”

            “Oi!” Tsuna slipped back into his native tongue as he scolded his former tutor, “What sort of weird scenario are you imagining?”

            “Hmm?” Reborn looked at him, eyes wide and innocent looking, his face the definition of childish bewilderment. Tsuna glared at him. It was disgustingly similar to the impossibly guiltless expression that won the twelve year old Reborn favoritism from all the women of Namimori—old and young alike. Tsuna felt his eye twitch. “Quit pretending to be innocent!”

            “Eh?” Reborn cocked his head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

            “Reborn.” He ground out his name by the syllable by syllable, his gaze intent upon his younger, yet also older friend.

            The hitman continued to drag the charade out a moment longer before snickering to himself. “Heh.” His gaze fell as the put upon innocence reverted back to his standard fathomless gaze, a patronizing smirk in place on his lips, “Better, DameTsuna?”

            Tsuna cleared his throat, intent on hiding his embarrassment behind a professional façade—though the faint tinge of pink over his cheeks was his undoing. “I’m fine. I’m more concerned with Thompson-san at the moment,” the sincerity of his words undoing his obvious mask.

            Reborn eyed his former pupil. It was not the first time, he or one of his guardians had to pull him from the abyss that was his own concern and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. As detrimental as caring for others might seem in the mafia world, it was one of the things that made Tsuna the man he was. He would always worry about others—it was in his nature and it was one of the things that made him a good leader, even _if_ he could worry a hole into just about surface or material. He watched out for his family and in turn his family would make sure he didn’t over burden himself in the process. Tsuna was a good boss, but he was still quite young. One day, Reborn hoped, _no_ , he didn’t hope, he _knew_ that one day he’d be better than just good. But, as he watched Tsuna pull himself together, fingers twitching in desire to tug at his cufflinks, he knew that day was still far off. Instead, he pulled his mind from the future and returned to their present predicament.

            “What exactly about her has you concerned, Tsuna?”

            Tsuna looked at Reborn in surprise, “Well, I _mean_ …what with all that she’s been through…and _that_.” He gestured at the folder that said woman was currently flipping through in a frenzy. “She probably thought being in the hands of the mob was the end of the world. I know _I_ would have, but… _that folder_ ,” he stared at her trembling hands sympathetically, “that’s the end of _her_ world. What she thought she knew…it’s _lies_ …. Well, maybe not all of it, but…I’ve seen that folder, Reborn. Those files are nothing like what’s known to the public.”

            “Truth is the price of knowledge, Tsuna.” Reborn moved to stand next to him, watching as Charlene Thompson reached the final pages. “Ignorance is not bliss. You of all people should know that.”

            Tsuna frowned at his words. “I do.” He was _still_ ignorant and acquiring knowledge on many things—daily even—but he was nothing if not experienced on the crimes of ignorance, and yet he couldn’t help empathizing. “But, I wasn’t alone when I went through everything. I had help, she has no one.”

            “I wouldn’t say that. After all, your own concern is nothing to scoff at and if Fuuta gets any more involved in her wellbeing we’ll have to consider her adopted.” Reborn’s mouth hinted at a smile when Tsuna let out an amused huff. “But, Tsuna,” he continued, his tone losing its dry humor, “the difference between you and her, is that you never _chose_ to be alone. Charlene Thompson is isolated because she likes it that way.” He turned away from the glass then, walking over to his self-brewed coffee where he poured two cups.

            Tsuna watched as the teenage hitman left the viewing room, placed a steaming cup in front of the disillusioned woman and then sat down across from her where he proceeded to sip from his own cup without a care in the world. He sighed as he watched her lift her eyes to the cup and then to Reborn. She miserably looked back down at the mess of papers in front of her. There was no way his tutor of once upon a time could hear him, but he found the words coming anyway, “…I don’t think anyone really _wants_ to be alone, Reborn.” She reached for the porcelain container and dragged it in front of her, holding it tightly, but not drinking from it. Tsuna frowned and his fingers found his cufflinks once more.

 

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

            He’d long finished his own coffee and had pushed the ceramic to the side. Charlie’s eyes had tracked the movement, but otherwise she said nothing, her gaze falling back to the cooling dark liquid in her own cup. Having decided, he’d given her enough time to digest the information he chastised her, “If you weren’t going to drink it, you shouldn’t have taken it. Those coffee beans cost more than your shack out in the woods; the least you could do is not waste it.”

            She frowned and shot a quick glare at him before lifting the cup to drink. She still wasn’t speaking, but at least she wasn’t staring blankly into space anymore. “I’m going to take a guess,” he prodded her knowing she wouldn’t speak otherwise, “and say you weren’t too fond of your reading material?”

            She slammed the porcelain cup down, the contents sloshing over the rim and splattering over the table, a few drops pelting the scattered documents. Reborn eyed the mess drolly, “We’ll have to work on your manners, I see.”

            “What the fuck do you want from me?” She spat the words at him, her eyes wide and rimmed with unshed tears. “First you show me this!” she gestured at the folder. “And now you wanna talk about _manners!_ What the fuck is wrong with you?” Her hands grappled the air as she struggled to express herself. “What is this?” Her question bounced off the walls as she slumped into her seat, a dazed, but willfull look in her eyes. She questioned again, “What do you want from me?”

            Reborn waited for a long moment, letting her gather herself together before beginning evenly, “Nothing for the moment.” He pressed on as she slowly focused her gaze on him. “These are just the first of your answers. You asked and we have consented. It’s of little cost to us. You might think that you could be a potential security risk once we’ve answered you fully, but you won’t be. You’re not a threat. A single bullet to the brain and whatever risk you pose would be eliminated.” He didn’t hesitate when she flinched, but continued on unbothered. “If it makes you feel any better, it won’t be any of the others who end you. I’ll do it myself, if need be. Thankfully, however, I believe you’re smart enough to keep the information to yourself.”

            Charlie swallowed thickly, unsure of how to process the fact that a twelve year old had threatened to kill her in cold blood if she ran her mouth. _Lovely._ She almost didn’t hear him when continued.

            “And that is what we shall freely offer to you.”

            She frowned, “What good is it to me? This information….I can’t do anything with it. I’m stranded in a foreign country where I can barely speak the native language on a tourist’s level and my own government thinks I’m dead!

            Reborn only nodded, “All true.”

            “So, I’m screwed then! I have no choice, but to rely on you people! The info might be free, but I’m guessing the help won’t be!”

            “Correct, Ms. Thompson.”

            She sighed, the breath coming raggedly from her throat. “So, what? What do I need to do for you…” she seemed to struggle not to insult him, “people to help me?”

            Reborn mused over her words gleefully, though his expression was still quite blank. He already knew the answer, but he was enjoying her discomfort. “Well…typically speaking, we could discreetly offer you employment with us, wherein we’d establish a new identity for you and relocate you to a different area—preferably where you couldn’t be recognized. After a few years of loyal service, we’d cut ties and allow you to live out your life in peace.”

            She scowled. It didn’t sound horrible, even if the terms of the employment were quite vague, but it’s not as if she had much choice, though the loss of her former life chaffed horribly on her pride. Still, she replied to his terms, “…I guess—”

            “However,” Reborn cut her off, his eyes gleaming with unspoken intent, “we have a different proposition we’d like to offer you.”

            She blinked. “What?”

            “Your previous life is gone. You have nothing left. Not even the clothes on your back are yours at this point.” He smiled at her hardening expression. “Your family’s property and the reserve are tied up in disputes. Your material belongings are on the verge of being liquidated and those who depended on you for employment or shelter are now about to lose their livelihood. Meanwhile, you’re just sitting here with a name that by this time tomorrow will either belong to a hypothetically dead woman in America or dead woman at my feet.”

            “What’s your point?” She grit the words out, wanting nothing more than to lunge across the table.

            “…if I said you could have all that back?”

            “What?” She choked on the relief that flooded through her, but tensed at the hesitance that followed. “What’s the catch?”

            “Well, firstly, yes, you could have it all back in the sense of ownership. Your belongings all back to you. Your property saved and the reserve put back on track with your employees continuing to be paid and doing their jobs. Everything goes back to normal.”

            She caught on to what he didn’t say fairly quickly, “Except _me_.”

            “Except _you_.”

            “And what would I be doing?”

            “Working for the famiglia.”

            She frowned. “How is that different from the original offer?”

            “And that’s the catch, Ms. Thompson. There is no cut off date. You won’t simply be an employee on paper. We’re offering you a place among the famiglia.”

            She stared at him; the weight of his oil black gaze pinning her with the weight of choice. She was caught between death and the devil, himself. She clenched her jaw, “How long do I have to decide?”

            His reply was automatic, “Until I leave this room.” He stood then, the sound of the chair sliding over the metal floor cutting into her cloud of indecision. He gathered the two porcelain mugs and walked away from the table.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

**_…a few hours later…_ **

His footsteps were silent as he made his way to the door, careful not to alert the being on the other side of his presence until absolutely necessary. He raised a hand to rap gently with his knuckles. Three times, he knocked, before speaking in a volume that would only just be heard beyond the door, “Kyo-san.”

            Kusakabe Tetsuya was the only man allowed to wake Hibari Kyoya as he was simply the only one that anyone expected to come out of such an event without being injured or pressured into a fight. He waited a full moment—ninety seconds to be exact—before giving an internal sigh. He’d have to enter the room. When it came to what the world knew about Hibari Kyoya, his custom of frequent naps was only second to his lust for battle and for Kyoya interrupting the first usually led to the second. So when Tetsuya entered the room, he was understandably surprised to find his boss already awake and not in the midst of his mid-afternoon nap. In fact, If Tetsuya were to judge by the unrumpled futon next to the seiza-style sitting young man, he’d guess that he hadn’t slept at all.

            Kyoya was dressed casually in a forest green yukata. It was his usual manner of dress when relaxing in his private space, so there was no further surprise there. However, as the pompadour possessing second stepped into the room, he found himself uneasy upon realizing that Kyoya had yet to even acknowledge his presence. His boss was too busy staring intently at what appeared to be a simple fountain pen. Tetsuya, however, knew better. After all, he’d been the one to patch up the hole it had left behind after Kyoya had carelessly snatched it from his body. Tetsuya’s gaze drifted to the skin exposed by the wide collar of Kyoya’s yukata, glimpsing the barely concealed gauzy bandage just beneath his clavicle. He fought the urge to frown at the sight of it. For some reason, Kyoya had refused—in fact, downright commanded Tetsuya not to heal it. That in itself was not unusual. His boss had inhuman stamina and was known to go extended periods of time fighting with injuries that would bring others to their knees. This was not to say, however, that Kyoya would turn down being healed. It was more a matter of convenience. If he felt like waiting around to be healed would be more of a nuisance than fighting with it, he’d simply ignore it until he was finished inflicting discipline on some loathsome herbivore—Kyoya’s words not his. Still, once the moment of conflict was over and peace had returned, the chairman had no problem submitting to be healed, although he was picky about who did the actual healing. After all, if he left it to heal on its own, then it would be that much longer before his body was once more in peak form and a body that did not obey his exact commands was possibly even more loathsome to Kyoya than a pack of interloping herbivores.

            He was snapped from his musings by a cool and monotonous, but unmistakably male voice, “Tetsu.”

            The man in question gave a startled response, “H-hai, Kyo-san.”

            “I assume you have some reason for barging in unwelcomed.” Kyoya hadn’t even turned in his direction. Instead, in Tetsuya’s momentary lapse of attention, he had picked up the fountain pen and was slowly spinning it between his fingers, his lidded gaze seeming to study it as he did so.

            Tetsuya cleared his throat and this time when he spoke, he was much more put together. “Hai, Reborn-san has requested a meeting between Sawada and all of his guardians this evening.” He readied himself for Kyoya’s surly reaction to being in a room with his… _famiglia,_ but surprisingly, none came.

            Kyoya appeared not to notice the surprise on Tetsuya’s face as he muttered to himself, “ _akanbou…_.” Kyoya wasn’t a fool, he knew quite well that Reborn was not a baby nor had he been when they’d first met, but the name had stuck…much to the hitman’s annoyance. He ceased his twirling of the pen. “What does he want?”

            There was a brief silence as Tetsuya chose his words carefully, “I was only informed that it involved Thompson-san.”

            Tetsuya maintained his calm expression even as Kyoya leveled a murderous glare at his person and his stomach churned in response.

            “I see.” The pen was now clenched in his grasp. “Is that all, Tetsu?”

            “Hai, Kyo-san.”

            Kyoya rose fluidly from his seiza and turned away from his second, walking towards the sliding doors that led to the inner courtyard. Just as his hand laid upon the fragile surface, he tossed a few words over his shoulder, “You may leave.”

            “Hai, Kyo-san.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I have a confession. I have had this chapter for months. I think that I had intended to add more, but when I came back to it today, I honestly couldn’t remember what I wanted to add to it. O.o So, I just read over it and added literally like TWO sentences. XD *cringes* …don’t hurt me. Anyway, I can not promise at any point a steady flow of updates…I just…don’t…can’t…ughhh…adulting is so hard!  School and work…with no assistance from anyone…is difficult, I don’t have time to write like I used to, but! I will never give up on this story! NEVER!!!! 
> 
> Thanks so much to all of you guys who are still here and welcome to my insanity for all you new people; I hope you all stick around for the long haul.
> 
> -S.T.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm new to this whole tagging thing, so if you guys happen to notice some things I should tag, please let me know.


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